Qui Bono?
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Afterschool Special tag: Sam had to salt and burn a friend today. And that's not even what's really bothering him.


_("Who Benefits?" not "Who's Bono?" :) )_

**Qui Bono?**  
K Hanna Korossy

Sam cradled the ice pack against his jaw with one hand, tilted the bottle of beer up with the other, and blinked tiredly at the stars above.

He should probably be asleep. That was the plan after the little black-bag job they'd pulled that night, sneaking into a mental health facility—a jail for psychos, really—to try to clear the record of the girl who'd been possessed when she'd killed a classmate. And that was after busting the ghost that had possessed her, and getting whaled on in the process. His face was swollen and tight, his abs tender, and he felt like he could sleep clear through the next day.

But this…this was too rare a moment to pass up.

Dean was stretched out on the Impala's hood beside him, also nursing a beer and stargazing. It wasn't something they hadn't done a hundred times before…but not lately. Not since Hell, and Ruby, and so many secrets piled up between them that Sam felt like he couldn't see his brother sometimes. But the silence between them tonight was easy, the company comfortable, and Sam didn't want it to end.

"I salted and burned somebody I knew once."

They could go a whole evening without having to talk, and Dean was tired, too, Sam knew. He was surprised his brother felt the need to break the quiet, but clearly he had something on his mind. Sam rolled his head toward Dean, giving him a look of sleepy interest.

"I mean, you know, besides the hunter send-offs," Dean continued, still turned skyward. "Ruthie was a civilian."

"Ruthie?" Sam echoed. "So when you say 'knew'…"

Dean made a face and slid him a look. "Dude, you really wanna go there?"

On second thought, ew, no. Sam shifted the ice pack—cold-water pack at this point, really—and waved his bottle magnanimously. "Sorry. Keep going."

Dean shook his head but went on. "Dad and I were in town for something else, actually, don't even remember what. But there was this rumor going around of a family that was having a run of bad luck: broken leg from a fall down the stairs, a near-drowning, couple of unexplained accidents. So I looked into it on the side."

"Was the town someplace we'd stayed before?" Sam asked, watching him curiously now.

"I don't know—maybe?" Dean shrugged. "Who friggin' knows anymore, man—they all start looking the same. But I remembered her, soon as I saw her name. She'd died the year before, 'accidental fall' at home, no witnesses."

"Ah." Sam took another swallow. They saw a lot of those in their line of work. And while occasionally they really had been accidents, the ghosts now just confused or angry in general about a life cut short, most of them weren't. And with no one to mete out justice, the ghosts would take care of it themselves.

"I didn't wanna do it. I mean, you figure something like that happened to her, the people she was punishing probably had it coming. It wasn't like she'd killed anyone. And…"

"And you knew her," Sam said quietly, thinking about Barry.

"Yeah." Dean went to drink again, found the bottle was empty, and tossed it into the high grass around them with a disgruntled grunt.

Sam passed over his beer. He reached his limit far before Dean anyway. "Did…Dad…?" Sam tiptoed around the question. He wouldn't have thought it beyond John to make Dean put one of his old girlfriends to rest.

"Naw, he never knew about it. I just figured…maybe she'd find peace that way, you know? She deserved it."

"Yeah." Sam nodded a little. "I hope Barry did, too."

Dean was watching him sideways now. "He probably doesn't even know what we did, Sam."

They'd thought Barry was their ghost at first, but it'd been a different miserable kid. No one knew exactly what happened to spirits when they were salt and burned, but Sam liked to think that if they'd already moved on, it wouldn't make a difference to them what had happened with their bodies. He wouldn't have agreed to sending off their dad in a funeral pyre otherwise.

"You doing okay?" Dean asked suddenly. "No sharp pains, double vision?"

And there was the bottom line: the story, the query about Sam's health, they were all really about Dean worrying over Sam salting and burning his old school buddy. Sam smiled a little to himself, bittersweet. He wished that was his biggest concern those days, that it wasn't just a blip in the angstfest that was his life now. And, just a little bit, that Dean knew what was really eating at him: the night-practice sessions with Ruby, the burden of stopping Lilith…the demon blood.

He shifted the baggie of cold water to the other side of his face, conveniently blocking his view of Dean. "I'm okay." Not _fine_, because he wasn't going to lie about that. But he was managing. Kinda had to.

Quiet returned. He knew Dean was still stealing the occasional glance at him, but he seemed to have gone back to watching the stars. They were pretty spectacular that night, here in the middle of nowhere.

It was Dean who broke the hush again, just as Sam's eyes were starting to get heavy.

"We did some good tonight." So soft, it might've just been meant for himself.

Sam absorbed that. Dean had never had much to be proud of: his little brother, his car, his good looks…and his job. A lot of what had kept him going, given him purpose, had been the knowledge that he was helping people.

Hell had taken that away. There was nothing like knowing you'd tortured countless souls to make you feel like you'd done more harm than good in your life. These days, Sam was pretty sure the only reason Dean kept doing the job was to watch Sam's back…and the small hope that he could eventually make up for his time in Hell.

"We did," Sam agreed. "Who knows how many other kids Dirk would've killed or screwed up? We helped a lot of people, Dean."

A beat. Dean slowly nodded.

Sam waited until his brother polished off the second beer, then let himself yawn. "Don't know about you, man, but I'm beat. We got any more ice still inside?"

"I'll get some." Dean slid off the car, watching as Sam gingerly levered himself up. "You sure you're okay there, Elephant Man?"

"Ha, ha." His head was swimming a little, truth be told, and it wasn't unwelcome when he felt Dean's hand slide around his biceps. Sometimes he was really grateful he had a big brother, remembering the awful grief of Dean being dead and gone. And sometimes he was keenly aware that being the little brother was the best way to help Dean find his footing.

"Seriously, dude, have you looked in the mirror lately? We should hit a bar tomorrow—every girl there'll wanna play Nurse Nancy with you." Dean opened the motel room door one-handed and maneuvered Sam inside. "On second thought…" he mused, and Sam huffed a laugh.

He just hoped Dean would let him do some looking after, too.

**The End**


End file.
